Gethsemane
by LostinOblivion
Summary: AU, When Doyle switches sides, determined to bring a child murderer down, Emily has to work with him as a cop, and they both have to deal with unresolved feelings. Prentiss/Doyle. Based off a prompt.
1. Chapter 1

_This is based off a prompt from romiross, will be multichaptered and features lots of Prentiss/Doyle. It unfortunately does not have the rest of the team. I could have crammed them in, but with the JTF-12 team and local LEOs, it would have been too many cops for me to juggle effectively. _

_Thank you Sara Nublas for the translation of the Italian, it is much appreciated._

* * *

><p>Ian Doyle rubbed a finger along his bottom lip as he perused the letter, photos, and news clippings sent from one of his contacts in Boston. Ordinarily, he might handle a problem such as this with a bullet to the man's head, but that wasn't practical in this situation. It would start a war, and while he wasn't afraid of Flynn in the slightest, his brother Seamus was an entirely different matter. Seamus was a sadistic bastard with a mean streak as wide as the Atlantic, and more than enough money and manpower to back it up. Even Ian Doyle did not fuck with Seamus Ronan.<p>

"What're you thinkin', Ian?" Liam asked, standing almost perfectly still beside him.

Ian didn't turn or look at him, but stared straight ahead. "I think we'll be needing more help that we've got here."

"I might be able to round up a few more guys—" Ian cut him off with the wave of a hand.

He sighed. "You won't find many willing to go up against Seamus."

"But we can't let Flynn keep doin' what he's doin." Liam's voice was louder, more desperate.

"We won't. Gather the boys, Liam. It's time we move our business, I think." He looked his first mate in the eyes, and watched the older man's grow larger in shock. He continued before Liam could speak. "I'll handle this myself. You work on getting rid of anything that needs to be gotten rid of, and get the men to scatter. Then you go yourself, take Louise with you."

"Declan too?"

"No, Lauren will mind the boy."

"But, shouldn't—"

"Lauren will mind him," Ian repeated more firmly. He suspected that Liam knew of Declan's true parentage, but he'd never asked, and Ian never told.

Liam finally nodded then, and left to go do as asked. Ian sighed and rubbed his hands over his head. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine that he'd be doing this, and yet he was determined to do just that. He shuffled the papers into a fresh envelope, and left the original with the return address on the desk for burning, along with so much of his business documents.

Ian packed a bag, grabbed his jacket, and headed downstairs to find Lauren. She was in the living room, helping Declan with a puzzle, and she smiled when she saw him. She must have seen something in his eyes, because it dropped quickly. She ran a hand over Declan's blond hair, and pushed herself off the floor.

"Ian, what's wrong?" Her voice was a whisper.

"There's going to be a few people coming into the house, they're my people, so don't be alarmed. I have to go out, but I need you to pack a bag for yourself and Declan, and then wait in his room until someone comes to get you."

"What? Why? Are you in trouble?"

"It's fine, just please do as I ask, Lauren," he said. Her face was filled with worry and concern, he raised his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "You trust me?"

Her eyes searched his, and she touched the hand still pressed against her cheek. "Of course, I do."

"Then do this for me, please." After a few seconds of silence, she nodded, and Ian pulled in her for a quick kiss before he walked out of the house, and made for his car.

He drove to the police headquarters in Grosseto, and parked his expensive car in their lot full of cruisers and the inexpensive sedans of their employees. Ian left his bag in the car, and tugged the envelope of documents into his jacket, before heading inside. His French had always been better than his Italian, but living in the country had certainly helped improve it. Lauren had wonderful Italian. She couldn't hide her American accent, but she spoke it fluently and confidently. He did the same as he addressed the officer stationed at the door.

The young officer had to phone other officers, and it wasn't long before the police lobby was surrounded by uniformed police, and higher ranking ones in suits. He explained that he was unarmed, and only wanted to give them some information. Two cops kept guns on him, while another frisked him, finding only his keys, wallet and the envelope. What he assumed was the highest ranking cop in the room stepped forward and addressed him in heavily accented English.

"How can we help you, Mr. Doyle?" He didn't bother hiding his distain.

Neither did Ian. "You have contacts with Interpol?"

The cop snorted. "You come to turn yourself in then?"

He smiled. "Not likely. I have information that will be of interest to Interpol and the American's specifically. Irish too. English maybe, if they've got a clue."

"What kind of information?"

"On a man responsible for the rape and murder of at least a dozen children in three countries."

The cops immediately sobered, their attitudes dropping. "How did you come by this information?"

"I'm well acquainted with this swine and his family."

The cop gave Ian an untrusting look. "You're being honest here? Because we don't have time to waste with you."

Ian nodded. "Aye."

"Then I think we should talk." He nodded to two men, who approached Ian. He held up his arms, refusing to let them grab him.

"Before we get to any talking, I have to conditions. I won't talk unless both are met." The cop nodded, so Ian continued. "The first is that you get Interpol here before I do any talking. I hate repeating myself, and we both know they'll have to come anyway. Moira, Northern Ireland. January 5, 1989, March 3rd, 1990, November 21st, 1990. Those are the dates of the cases in Ireland. Three dead children, two girls and a boy. You validate those, and get Interpol here when you finish."

"And, the second?"

"That I'll tell you when you've got Interpol on their way." It was both to delay a couple hours, and because he didn't trust them.

Again, the cop nodded, and gestured to the officers to escort him upstairs. They took him to a small interrogation room, and left him there while they checked on the cases he mentioned. There was a fourth case in Moira, in 1987, but that death had been deemed accidental. He knew that to be false.

So, he waited. It wasn't surprising that it would take them time to get through to the authorities in Ireland, and for Moira police to track down the files, which were probably buried in a storage facility somewhere. After an hour, a young cop came in, handed him a cup of coffee and assured him they were working on it. He offered a nod of thanks, and went back to waiting. For years, he'd wanted to do something about Flynn. He'd kept track of him, making note of child murders wherever the monster was living, and hoping for Seamus to get blown away in a firefight. Without Seamus, Flynn was an easy target. No one would fight or die for that bastard.

Another hour and a half, and the cop he'd spoken to walked back in. "Mr. Doyle, we verified those cases, and spoke to Interpol. They have a team in the area that should arrive soon. You want to tell me what you else you wanted?"

Ian nodded. "This man that's hurting the children, he has a very powerful family, when they learn who gave the police the information on him, they will come after me and mine. I want a promise that my family and I will be given new identities after this is all over."

"Interpol will have to make that promise."

"Aye." Ian nodded. A knock at the door interrupted the short silence that had fallen, and a young man announced that Interpol had already arrived. The senior officer seemed to be surprised, but excused himself with a nod, and disappeared out the door.

When he returned ten minutes later it was with two other men. One with short lighter hair, and the other with darker hair that spread to his face.

The Italian cop made introductions. "Ian Doyle. Interpol Agents Clyde Easter and Sean McAllister."

Ian looked at the dark-haired man, McAllister. "Irish?"

He shook his head. "Scotsman."

Doyle shrugged. "Better than a Brit."

McAllister nodded to his partner. "Careful, he's one of the Queen's boys."

"Unfortunate for you," Ian said. Easter looked almost amused.

"You requested to speak with us, Mr. Doyle." Easter didn't sit, but addressed him politely.

"I trust they briefed you on why I came. Before I give you what I have, I want your guarantee of new identities for my family."

"You're on Interpol's radar, Doyle, and according to your dossier, you don't have any living family," he said.

Ian smiled. "I guess you better tell your boys they aren't so good at collecting intel."

Easter inhaled. "What jurisdiction is this man currently in, do you know?"

"The States. Do I have my guarantee?" Ian pressed.

He nodded. "We have contacts with the U.S. Marshals, since it will be Americans arresting and prosecuting, they'll handle protection and new identities. At least when we get overseas, I can guarantee you my team will protect your family until then. If you give me names and locations, I'll send officers to get them now."

Ian gave them the address of the house. "Declan Jones and Lauren Reynolds. And Lauren will be armed, so tell your people not to shoot if they see a weapon."

* * *

><p>Emily was normally a very calm, rational person; a champion at compartmentalizing and concealing her emotions, and very hard to fluster.<p>

Emily was freaking out.

Declan was sitting on his bed, pointing out animals in the book and making the appropriate noises, and she was just thankful he was still entertained. Their bags were by the door and she was strapped to the gills with weapons, awaiting whoever was supposed to come get them. Something was very wrong, she could sense it in Ian's body language, and feel it when he touched her. Not to mention Liam and a couple guys storming into the house and collecting materials, things they wouldn't want cops to find, and the huffing and puffing back out, with an agitated Louise in tow.

That left only Declan and herself in what was basically a mansion, and it was a bit daunting when it was so empty. At first, it wasn't so bad, Emily could cope with pretty much anything. But it had been hours now, with no word from Ian, and no way to safety contact her team and tell them that the shit had just very likely hit the fan.

Then there was a knock on the door.

She tensed, and shimmied out of Declan's bed, leaving the boy to sit and watch her curiously. Emily didn't bother going to his window, as it faced the back of the house, not the front. Instead, she glanced around the room, until her eyes settled on the toy chest. She walked over, and pulled out some of the toys, before she motioned Declan over.

"I need you to climb in here, sweetie." She gestured to the chest. The person at the door knocked again.

Trained well by Ian, Declan did it without asking a single question. She set the lid back down. "Push on the top, see if you can get out."

She watched the top come up to reveal a smiling Declan. "Good, you stay in there until I come get you. If I don't come, you stay in until you don't hear anyone in the house, then you come out, and run to the neighbors. Okay?"

He nodded, and she settled the top back as she heard the knocking again. Emily organized the animals again, so it wouldn't look obvious, and then moved quickly down the stairs. She pulled out her weapon, definitely illegal in Italy, and called through the door. "Chi è esso?"

"Polizia Urbana." A man's voice called back.

"Mostratemi le vostre credenziali alla finestra." She instructed them to show their credentials. At least one did as asked, which was enough for her to study the ID, and confirm authenticity. She holstered her weapon, and undid the locks on the door.

Che cosa posso fare per voi?" She asked what they wanted. There were two male cops directly in front of the door, and another set on the lawn.

"E` lei Lauren Reynolds?" The older of the two asked.

"Sì, sono io."

"We are here to escort you to police headquarters," he said, switching to English.

Emily's heart began to pump faster, but she didn't show any concern. "Why? I haven't broken any laws that I'm aware of."

"You are not under arrest, signorina. We're taking you into custody for your own protection."

"Protection from what?"

The cop swallowed and seemed to be resisting the urge to shrug. "We were not told that much, signorina. Only to retrieve you and the boy."

"Boy?"

"Declan Jones. Signore Doyle said you and the boy would be together."

Her eyes widened. "Signore Doyle? What the hell is going on?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't know." He looked rather apologetic.

She frowned, but nodded in ascent. "Fine. I need to get Declan."

"We need you to frisk you, signorina. We were told that you'd be armed."

Emily turned back around, jaw tense. She pulled the 38 auto from her waistband, showed it to them, ejected the clip, and tossed both aside. Then she reached into her right pant leg, and removed the 22, and repeated the same actions. Last, she reached into her left pocket and pulled out the six inch switchblade, also tossing that aside.

They were eyeing her with expressions that suggested she was nuts. Emily sighed. "I woke up feeling a bit paranoid today. Feel free to check for more."

The older cop nudged the younger one forward, and he awkwardly patted her down, checking her over for additional weapons. He backed up with a nod at the other cop. Emily turned again then, and headed up to get Declan. She grimaced, but otherwise ignored the booted steps of the officers following her up.

Emily lifted up the chest lid to find a frightened Declan, and motioned him to come out. "It's okay, sweetie."

He followed her as she headed back toward the door. As she reached a hand to grab for the bags, one of the cops reached out a hand toward Declan. Emily slapped his hand away, and pulled Declan close, lifting him into her arms. "No one comes near him until I find out what the hell is going on."

The cop raised his hands to show he wouldn't touch them. Instead he grabbed the bags, and walked downstairs and out to the cruisers. She set Declan in the back seat of one, and motioned him to move over, so she could sit beside him. The younger cop closed the door, while the older one stowed their bags, and then they were headed off to police headquarters. Declan slid back toward her, and pressed his little body into hers for the entire car ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Emily was aggravated. No, that was an understatement. She was pissed, and damn sick of looking at the walls of the conference room. After an hour, a female cop had come in and brought them dinner. Half an hour after that, Declan had to use the bathroom, and when the same cop offered to take him, Emily nearly bit her head off. Cops they may be, but Declan wasn't leaving her sight for anything. It had been an hour and a half at least since then, and it was getting late. Declan had already fallen asleep in her arms, fear wearing him out. His feet hung over her lap, and his head was tucked against her chest.

The door finally opened, and her eyes widened to see none other than Clyde Easter.

"Clyde? What the hell is going on?" She demanded, eyes blazing.

"Relax, Em. Your cover is in tact." He assured, sliding into the seat next to her.

"Good to know, but not what I was referring too. Who do we need protection from? Why are we here?"

"You familiar with a man named Seamus Ronan?"

She nodded. "Yeah, has more money than God, known to be something of a sadist, deals in Doyle's world."

"That's him," Clyde began. He went on to explain about Flynn, and how Doyle wanted to stop him, but was afraid of retaliation from Seamus. Doyle had apparently come to then, offering information so they could arrest Flynn.

Emily sensed he was holding something back though. "Clyde, what aren't you saying?"

He sighed. "In exchange for the information, Doyle requested new identities for himself and his family, one Declan Jones and one Lauren Reynolds."

"Shit."

"Yes, you see how that could be a problem. He's afraid Seamus will come after all of you when he hears the part Doyle played in his brother's capture. Funny, the part that most surprised us was little Declan Jones. We thought he was the housekeeper's boy." His tone was pleasant, but his face was hard, lips pursed.

"Doyle kept him hidden to protect him," she stated.

"So, you did know then."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Were you planning to inform the rest of your team?" He asked.

"No." Clyde's eyes widened and mouth opened, but Emily held up a hand. "I reveal his paternity, then when we leave, they use him as a pawn. I wasn't about to let that happen, and I won't apologize for it, Clyde."

"You've grown too attached to him, Emily." His eyes drifted to the four year-old curled against her chest.

"Maybe, I have," she said.

Clyde shook his head. "You've gone undercover a dozen times, I've never seen you like this."

"I've been under with Doyle for over 18 months, Clyde. To pull that off, some of it has to be real."

He just shook his head again, like he was disappointed in her.

* * *

><p>Ian had spent hours in that room, going over all the information he had on Flynn Ronan. Considering his line of work, the police treated him with more respect and congeniality that he'd expected, but he supposed, even they have to concede the decency of a man who would take such risks to pull a child murderer off the streets.<p>

He'd been informed earlier that Lauren and Declan were safely at the police station, and he'd see them shortly. Easter, the British Interpol agent, had left almost thirty minutes ago, while McAllister stepped out to call their contacts in the States. He was told to sit tight, and wait for them to return. Frankly, all the sitting and the small interrogation room were making him feel a bit claustrophobic. Ian was a man of action, not the type to sit on his ass and let others sort things out for him.

"Mr. Doyle," Easter greeted, pushing the door open, the other agent right behind him. "We're arranging a flight to the States, and expect to leave early tomorrow morning. In the meantime, the locals have found us a house to rent, we'll all stay there overnight."

"You've spoken to those American Marshal people?" He asked.

"We have. After Flynn Ronan has been apprehended, you and your son will be given new identities and monitored by their agents."

"What about Lauren? That was part of the deal." He should have figured he couldn't trust them.

"Ms. Reynolds has elected not to go with you."

"What? Where is she? I need to speak with her." He knew this wasn't an ideal life, or what Lauren had signed up for with him, but it wouldn't be a bad life. How could she say no?

The Brit nodded. "I'll take you to see them now."

He followed the Interpol agents down the hall, and through another hall that went past the bullpen filled with desks and busy cops. They rounded a corner and took only a few more steps to arrive at a doorway. Then Clyde stepped aside and gestured him into the room. Ian opened the door with little fanfare, and found Lauren in the far corner, Declan curled up on her lap. He was getting a bit big to be doing that, but Lauren didn't seem to mind. She smiled when she saw him, and Ian felt the smallest bit of relief at seeing it.

"So, you're helping the cops now?" She asked.

He walked over to her, sat in one of the chairs and moved close to her. "This man, Flynn, he hurts children. I've let it go on too long, it's time to stop it."

"They told me." She reached out a hand then, and squeezed his when he offered it. "I'm proud of you. Surprised, but proud."

"Then why won't you come with us, Lauren?"

She looked down at Declan, then up again. "I just can't, Ian."

"That isn't a reason. I can't let you leave us without a reason," he said. When she didn't speak, he tried to offer one. "Are you afraid to go back to the States? Is someone looking for you there? Because, if that's it we can fix it, I swear."

"No, it's nothing like that."

"Then what? Tell me, and we can figure it out."

She shook her head. "I don't want a new identity. I don't want to uproot my life, and start all over again."

"You wouldn't be alone, Lauren," he insisted. "You, me and Declan, we can make a new life together."

"That sounds really nice, Ian, but…do you think our relationship can survive that?" The look in her eyes said she wasn't so sure, and that felt like a knife to the gut.

"If I'd any doubts, I'd never have given you that ring." He point to the gimmel hanging on the gold chain around her neck.

"Well, I do have doubts," she said.

Ian kissed her fingers. "We'll have our share of problems, Lauren. Everyone does, but we'll get through 'em."

She bit her lip and sighed. "You aren't going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"No."

Lauren turned away, and seemed to zone out in thought for a few moments. When she turned back to face him, something was different about her. He couldn't place his finger on it, but something had changed, in her body language and her eyes, he could see the difference. "Ian, I need you to listen to me. I can not go with you. You have to accept that."

"I won't."

Jaw tight with tension, she began to nod, and pulled a cell phone that definitely wasn't hers from a pocket and sent a text message. After a few oppressively silent minutes, the two Interpol agents came in. The Brit looked annoyed, but waved a hand for her to continue.

Lauren inhaled. "I can't go with you, Ian, because I'm an undercover Interpol agent."

He'd never be certain which emotion rolled over him first. It felt like everything came and hit him all at once, like a tsunami wave crashing over his head, taking everything from him in its fury. Anger rushed through his body, leaving him hot and tense. Pain twisted in his stomach, like a knife digging around, finding new crevices to explore. Grief swarmed in his head, left him feeling fuzzy and unsure. Shock made his muscles seize, leaving him unable to move for several solid minutes.

When he finally did manage to speak, it was all but useless. "What?"

"When we started this, I didn't think much how it would affect you," she said. "Now though, I am sorry for hurting you." She sighed, and nodded toward the child still sleeping in her arms. "And for hurting Declan."

Suddenly realizing that it wasn't his beloved Lauren cradling his boy, but a conniving seductress who betrayed him, Ian felt his rage boil over every other feeling. He stood up so quickly, the chair went rolling backward, and yanked Declan from her arms. The boy woke with a whimper, looking around in confusion and panic. When he found his father's face, he seemed to relax a bit. Then he turned to look around and found Lauren. He held his arms out toward her and wiggled them. "Lauren."

"She's not Lauren, Declan."

The little boy shook his head, and pointed back at her. "I want Lauren."

"She's gone Declan. There's no more Lauren."

"But, I—"

"No!" Ian admonished. Declan's face grew red, and his lips quivered, as he looked between them. Then he began to cry.

Ian looked toward the Brit and Scotsman. "The house. We're ready to go."

He didn't wait for them to respond, and walked out of the conference and away from the woman that used to be Lauren. The woman who'd essentially taken his heart and blasted it to pieces with a shotgun. And broken his son's heart as well. The boy cried halfway to the house, and that's only because Ian wouldn't tolerate the tears any longer. Declan knew better. He was getting too old for hysterics.

Ian was further annoyed to find that Lauren—now he'd learned her name to be Emily—was staying in the house with them. He wasn't terribly surprised, but he hoped the glare he shot her was enough to tell her to keep the hell away from them. Getting Declan into pajamas and then bed had been a battle, and getting his thumb out of his mouth had been even worse. In the end, Doyle had to soothe him with the same Gaelic lullaby he'd used when Declan was a baby. It wasn't often that he'd put his infant son to bed, but the nights he did were some of the most peaceful of his life. He'd cradled baby Declan, and sang the lullaby his mother had taught him years ago. It had never failed, and tonight he found that it still worked.

With Declan asleep, Ian Doyle sunk heavily into the mattress, his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His hopes for the future, his plans for getting through his mess, they'd all gone straight to hell with one sentence from her mouth. It was supposed to have been the two of them together. They'd lose everything they'd both worked for, they'd have to hide, but when it was safe, they'd leave witness protection and rebuild. They'd eventually reach a comprise with regards to parenting, and she'd become Declan's mother.

Now, he was alone to raise his boy and rebuild his business. It was stark and painful, and he missed her already.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Emily took one of the rentals and drove to the airport early, having volunteered to check on everything with the pilots. It was an MI-6 jet, courtesy of some of Sean's contacts, who were evidently tickled at the idea of getting rid of their Ian Doyle problem. She just wanted to keep busy. She'd barely slept last night, her mind working at a slightly insane pace, and her body no longer accustomed to so much extra room in the bed. If she was completely honest with herself, it wasn't only her body that missed him.<p>

Emily parked in the lot, chatted with the pilots, and gratefully hopped on the small jet. It had padded leather seats, couches, tables to eat at, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom that was a little bigger than that of your average commercial airliner. She parked herself at an open section of chairs that faced the front of the plane, and formed and 'L' with a sofa, and tossed her bag on the floor next to her. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and her nerves weren't fairing very well.

That may have been why her eyes started to drift shut. It was most certainly why she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone plopped into the seat next to her. Emily's eyes flew open, and her hand was on her weapon before she even processed the identity of her new companion.

"Tsia," she said with a sigh. The woman smiled, and Emily glanced over to see her partner-in-crime leaning on a chair across from them. "Hello, Jeremy."

"You've gotten a bit jumpy, haven't you Emily?" He asked.

"She's been undercover for over a year, she's allowed to be jumpy, Jeremy," Tsia shot back. They were always piping back and forth at each other, Emily considered it their own personal brand of flirting.

"Well, either way, it's good to see you in one piece."

Emily nodded. "Thanks. It's good to be me for a bit."

Tsia hugged her then, tightly, like she hadn't seen her in ages. They hadn't actually spoken or been within twenty feet of each other in over a year. "God, it's good to see you. You know it's rough being the only one on the team without a penis."

Jeremy scoffed. "Well, it's not as if we take them out and measure them."

"Really? Because there've been a few times when you and Sean nearly came to blows, and I thought that might happen. Of course, Clyde always managed to show up and glare you both into behaving."

"Exactly what did I miss?" Emily asked, eyeing her teammates.

They didn't get to answer. Feet sounded on the steps leading into the plane and they all turned to see their teammates and Doyle and Declan climbing into the airplane's cabin. Declan saw her, and ran around the guys toward her. "Lauren!"

Emily stood up, and caught him in her arms, hugging him tightly. Ian wasn't the only one who she'd missed.

"Declan," Ian called, voice gruff and unhappy.

"I love you," the little boy's voice was soft, and his words nearly broke her heart.

"I love you too, sweetie. But you better go back to your father." She turned him around, and sent him back to a glowering Ian.

He pulled Declan up to sit beside him, and turned away from her. But she still heard his admonishment to the boy. "Stay away from her."

When Emily turned away from them, she found her entire team shooting her the same look. Dubious mixed with 'what the hell are you thinking?' and 'what did you get yourself into'. "Not one word," she said. "Or you don't survive until we get to the states."

Sean held up empty hands in surrender and went to find a seat, while Clyde only rolled his eyes before he did the same. Tsia looked at Jeremy. "Scat," she said, "we need to have girl talk."

"Oh, no we don't. Stay Jeremy."

He chuckled. "I'm partnered with her more, she wins." He pointed to Tsia and walked away.

"Traitor," Emily mumbled under her breath.

Tsia smirked. "So, tell me what's been going on with the surprisingly sexy hunk of rugged Irishman."

"You always thought he was creepy in pictures."

"Well, up close, in person, and playing Daddy to a cute little boy, he's far less creepy."

"Yes, he is," Emily sighed.

Tsia was silent several seconds before saying, "A cute little boy who clearly thinks of you as Mommy."

"Please leave it alone, Tsia. I just can't do this right now."

Emily expected her to continue pressing, but instead her friend settled for giving her hand a comforting squeeze. "It isn't your fault, Em."

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the delay on this, I got a bit sidetracked with an unexpected project. Two notes. Yes, I basically described the BAU jet; I figure most private jets are fairly similar. The other thing, I think this might be the most dialogue Jeremy gets in a scene. It's hard to be objective and positive about him, when I know he sold his team out. <em>

_Thank you to everyone who read, and especially, to those who review!_


	3. Chapter 3

When they landed a couple of SUVs from Boston PD were waiting to take them to the Homicide Unit. After a brief argument, it was decided that Declan could come with them, rather than be dropped off at the rental house with a police babysitter. Ian was adamant that he wasn't letting the boy out of his sight. He didn't trust them, not enough to leave his son alone with them. Declan was the only good thing left in his life, and he wasn't going to let anything happen to him.

"Well, this must be the crew from Interpol. Which one is my snitch?" An overweight white cop greeted them as soon as they stepped foot into the bullpen for BPD HU. His poor health was evident in the tired way he carried himself, and premature aging of his face. His mouth was curved into a sneer.

"I wouldn't be callin' me a snitch if I was you," Doyle warned him.

The fat cop's eyebrows rose, and his mouth curved into an amused smile. He snorted, then looked right past Ian to the Interpol team. "Which one of you is McAllister?"

"That'd be me. Ian Doyle is the man who has information that can help you catch the animal slaughtering children in your city." Sean nodded to him.

"I know who he is, and what he's here for. I did my research after you called, and this guy is nearly as bad the mook we're looking for. Forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical, but I don't trust him."

"I've done many terrible things, but I've never hurt a child," Ian insisted, his whole body tense with anger.

The cop rolled his eyes, and Ian felt his anger bubbling harder like a stew set to boil too long. "What the hell do you call bringing a kid into a homicide investigation?"

Ian responded gruffly. "I don't trust anyone to mind him."

"Right." The cop again looked over the Interpol team, before sighing. "What kind of sweet deal did they give you anyway? How many of murders do you get a free pass for? A dozen? Two?"

"I'd watch your tone, Detective. I got no deal. I came of my own free will, and you better start showing me a little respect if you want to catch your killer." Ian was running low on patience and high on rage.

"Respect? I don't respect the bugs that get stuck in my shoe, why would I respect a maggot like you?"

That's all it took, Ian could only tolerate so many insults. He let go of Declan's hand, and launched himself at the Detective, easily overpowering the much less athletic man, and pushing him into a wall. "I've enough of your insults, boy. I've killed men for less, and it's never been a quick death. I'd be remembering that from now on if I was you."

Two guys tugged at his arms, and he allowed them to pull him off the now much paler cop. Ian turned and found Declan cowering beside Lauren, or rather Emily, her arms around him protectively. Part of him was inclined to let the boy remain with her, where he clearly felt safe, but the part of him still in agony over her betrayal couldn't allow that.

"Declan, come," he commanded. The boy hesitated only a moment before dragging himself over. "You either want my help or you don't, make your choice, Detective."

"Cahill, get them in here already." Another cop appeared, nodding down the hallway.

Ian recognized the name, and snorted in disgust. "I suppose you no nothing of you Irish heritage."

The cop didn't answer, only waved them to follow him. Ian allowed McAllister and Easter to go before him, choosing to put distance between himself the Cahill. It was an unpleasant reception for the help he was giving. Help that had turned his and his son's lives upside down. They should be grateful.

They met two other cops in a large conference room, the one who'd addressed Cahill, likely his partner, and an older man, who was introduced as their supervisor. The partner, Detective Suarez, left briefly to get his Ipod to give to Declan, so he wouldn't hear what they were discussing.

"So, we pulled the cases you mentioned. No one here had made the connection. Five cases, five children abducted, raped and murdered each in a day's time. Who am I looking for, Mr. Doyle?" The Homicide Captain seemed receptive at least.

"Flynn Ronan. His brother, Seamus, is a mob boss in Ireland, very powerful and very wealthy. He's been cleaning up Flynn's messes and protecting him for the better part of two decades. The first children Flynn killed were in Ireland, four in total. His brother moved him to Britain then, and he lived there about ten years. During that time, there were six children that disappeared in the morning, and turned up dead the next morning, having been raped and brutalized. I'm almost certain that was also Flynn."

"What makes you such an expert on this guy?" Suarez asked.

"Went to school with them in the old days. Seamus was two years ahead of me, Flynn was one behind, and a freak even back then," Ian said.

"So this is personal?"

Ian considered that silently for a moment. "The first child he killed in Ireland was in our village. The three of us were still living there, Flynn would have been about 21. Her name was Gemma Cavanaugh, and she was six years old. She was a beautiful child, looked every bit the Irish girl, long red curls that wouldn't be tamed and deep green eyes. I used to see her riding up and down the street on her bike. Her father saved every penny for months until he could get his little girl a bike. One morning she headed off to school with the other children, but she never made it. Instead an elderly woman found her in the next town, she was beaten black and blue, her clothes torn, and her innocence ripped from her.

He let little Gemma live, and she was brave enough to tell the police everything they needed to know. She identified Flynn in a mugbook. But before anything could happen, Gemma vanished again, only to turn up floating face down in a pond. Cops said it was an accident. Her father took his shotgun and went after Flynn, Seamus's people beat him to death. Her mother, my cousin, she couldn't wait until it was her time to join them. Stuck her husband's pistol in her mouth." Ian paused. "Yes, Detective I suppose you could say it's very personal."

The cops were quiet until the Captain asked. "Well, what can you tell us about him?"

Ian had given much of this information already to the Interpol team, but sat calmly and reiterated it. "He'll stick close to Irish neighborhoods. He'll want to feel at home, among friends. Some of Seamus's people will be working for him, as protection or even just to keep him under control. At least one of them will know what he's doing, probably more. Flynn, he's supposed to be seeing to Seamus's affairs over here, but Seamus doesn't trust him, so he's just a figurehead. Where he lives will be expensive, but secluded, so no penthouses or fancy apartments. It will be a house. And, he'll be a regular patron at Irish bars."

Cahill stopped scribbling on his notepad. "Anything else?"

"Yes. There will be a church close by. Not more than a five minute drive. Flynn is a devout Catholic, never misses an opportunity to confesses his sins."

* * *

><p>"Has she told you anything about the boy?" Clyde turned to Tsia, looking away from the street they were canvassing.<p>

Irish pubs, Irish restaurants, Irish churches, they were canvassing any neighborhood that had Irish anything. He'd purposely assigned Tsia to canvass with himself. If Emily would have told anyone anything, after him, it was likely to be Tsia. Of course, knowing Emily, it was more likely she hadn't told anyone anything.

Tsia shook her head. "Not a thing. But, I can tell she cares for the child."

"Caught that did you?"

She scowled. "Well, I can also tell she cares about Doyle. More than she'll ever admit to us."

Clyde sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"Well, what did you expect, Clyde? She had to play house with the man for months."

He glared at her. He had thought Doyle's history of murder and mayhem would be enough to keep Emily from developing an emotional attachment. He had willfully disregarded some of _her_ profile, which would have told him that this might be a precarious position in which to put her.

She'd barely had family to speak of growing up, nor had she had any parental love. Her dating history was not very good, few relationships, and none really lasted more than six months. He should have known that a man falling in love with her would make her vulnerable. Playing mother to his child, most definitely would have, though there was no way for him to have known that Doyle had a child.

"Let's just do this," he muttered. The sooner they located Flynn Ronan, the sooner he could get Ian Doyle out of Emily's life. And head.

Tsia sighed, and walked into Rooney's, a pub done up in the style of traditional Irish. They even had The Cranberries pumping from the juke box.

They flashed their badges at the bartender, who looked slightly confused upon seeing them. "Who are you with?"

No Irish accent. "Interpol, International Police," Tsia said.

It was easiest to use the IDs Interpol had given them, rather than have the four of them walking around with IDs from four separate agencies. The bartender looked impressed.

"I haven't noticed any terrorists or anything here. Isn't the IRA sort of dead now?" He had light hair, dark eyes, and a useless sprig of a goatee on his chin.

"Sort of," Clyde answer. There was a fringe group who'd broken off, but they weren't a hard target for any agency. "We're not looking for a terrorist. Just this man." He held up the photo.

"Name's Flynn Ronan," Tsia said.

He studied the photo. "Nope. Never seen him, and never heard his name. Sorry."

"Are you sure? He'd have security with him, throw money around, but would be quiet and unreceptive to any woman that came around to flirt with him."

"He impotent or something?" The bartender asked.

"No, he just prefers children." Clyde watched the look of horror slip over the man's face.

He swallowed. "You got a card? I'll call you if that freak steps foot into this bar."

Clyde handed his card over to the man, and nodded to Tsia that it was time to leave. She looked relieved and for the first time, he noticed the drunken idiot trying to hit on her. He placed a hand on her back, and scowled at the man, who quickly backed off.

Tsia chuckled. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>This couldn't get anymore awkward if she took off all her clothes are started doing the chicken dance.<p>

Everyone else had left to canvass, but Clyde had ordered her to remain at the police station. The people in the areas they were canvassing would know her as Lauren Reynolds, not Emily Prentiss, CIA loanee to Interpol. They'd only dropped her cover for Ian, and weren't ready to drop it completely. Or risk her getting killed by someone loyal to him. So she was stuck, in conference room at BPD, with Ian.

They sat on opposite sides of the table, not looking at each other. They stared at the case files, Declan or the walls, but didn't dare pass a glance at the other. He was still furious, and she was feeling so conflicted it was damn near tearing her apart. Emily didn't know when she had lost the point where she ended and Lauren began. It was like it had been there, and then just slipped away without her noticing. Or like she'd gotten so deep into her cover she'd fooled even herself.

Ian shifted and moved his focus from the wall to the files. She was working up the profile, and he was looking for anything that might tie Flynn to the murders. He'd left no DNA on the bodies, though they did find traces of lubricant. The bastard had taken the time to slip a condom on before he held down a 45-pound child and forced himself inside her. He used the same device to strangle all four children in Boston, ages six and seven. Three girls and one boy. Ronan preferred girls if he could get them, but would settle for a boy in a pinch. It wasn't uncommon for perpetrators who chose children so young, as none of the secondary sex characteristics had even begun to develop at that age.

Emily sighed and studied the crime scene photos again, paying particular attention to the ligature marks around the children's necks. She struggled to make out the pattern, but it was blurry from the rope sliding along the child's throat. She opened a different case file and pulled those pictures out, and found the same problem. She pulled the file on the little boy, and flipped through the pictures. Here the marks were clearer, the rope hadn't slid as much, and the pattern looked familiar to her. Like a flash, the memory came to her.

Her head shot up. "Ian."

He glanced at her, frowning. "What?"

"That cords you keep above the fireplace, in the case with the glass lid. What are they?"

"Handfasting cords, from my great grandparents' wedding," he said.

Emily bit her lip, and decided to take a chance. She grabbed a photo of the ligature marks on each child, and walked over to him. "This pattern, I think it's a little different, but it reminds me of those cords. Do you think it could be handfasting cords?"

He seemed tense at her nearness, but looked at the photos anyway. He studied all four photos carefully, before looking up at her. "It's possible, yes. Patterns change, especially if the cords are handmade."

She nodded. "I think the cord he used might be. Do you see the impressions in the pattern here, and here? The cord isn't entirely uniform."

"If they find the cord on him, they can match it to these, right?"

"Yes, they can. But Ian, why would he have one of those cords? He isn't married."

He shrugged. "Could be his parents', cords are sometimes passed down."

"Like your great grandparents' cords?"

"Yes. Three generations used those. My great grandmother's mother had them made for her wedding. My mother used to tell me she had a real fairy bless them, so that all the marriages they were used in were blessed and long-lasting."

"And were they?"

He nodded. "Until my father was killed in the conflict."

Ian had only been seven when his father was gunned down by Protestant fighters. He'd joined the IRA the second he was old enough to, in an effort to bring his father justice. He'd told her that he felt as if he'd never quite succeeded in that, a confession he'd made during a quiet, emotionally intimate moment.

It occurred to her that Ian had probably thought about those cords a lot when he was thinking of marrying her. He would have wanted to use them. She thought of the white, vibrant midnight blue, and silver silk all weaved together, and her fingers went unconsciously to gold gimmel ring and chain she still wore around her neck.

She felt his eyes on her, and found his attention focused on her fingers as they worried the necklace. Emily dropped her hands, collected the photos, and retreated to her side of the table.

She still felt his eyes on her.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the delay on this update. I've had a lot of things going on this week, and I'm sick for the second time in a month, so I haven't been feeling very motivated to do anything. <em>

_Thanks for reading and please review!_


	4. Chapter 4

Ian couldn't sleep. Not a wink.

Declan was already passed out on the bed, but the older Doyle was finding sleep impossible. It hadn't been very possible last night either, he was too angry and overwhelmed. He'd laid awake much of the night, running over every moment with Lauren in his mind, his chest aching with the betrayal each of those precious moments now represented. He'd been furious, ready to write her out of his and Declan's life, and hell-bent on forgetting her. He knew he'd never get the opportunity to punish her.

Tonight though, he was just missing her.

They'd been living together for the last almost six months. Six months of her sleeping in his bed beside him, of being able to mold his body around hers. Many nights they'd fallen asleep after making love, and woken up the next morning, both nude, and their bodies eager for more. Many Sunday mornings, he'd woken before her, and just laid admiring and memorizing every detail. He'd long ago stopped going to mass on Sunday mornings, but in those six months, he'd given thanks to God with every little detail of her that he noted and relished.

Of course, they'd spent many nights apart during that time. If he was working on something, and she was off making some deal, they often went days without seeing each other. Every one of those nights though, he knew he'd see her soon. The reunions after those times apart were always filled with passion. He'd never forget the time when she'd showed up at his door at almost three in the morning, having traveled half the night to get back. She'd eyed him with a naughty, almost gleeful smile, and started removing his clothing and hers before they even made it to the bedroom.

It was in moments like that, that he struggled more to accept her betrayal. Ian loved her, and had been certain that she loved him. The woman deserved a career in Hollywood. Surely she'd become the next Meryl Streep with her talent.

Ian sighed, and stared out the bedroom window. She was in the room next door, but on accident rather than purpose, he was sure. Walking into their bedrooms tonight had been a bit awkward, though less awkward than running into her as she was coming out of the bathroom and he was headed into it. For a minute, he'd have sworn he saw pain in her eyes.

She was next door, close enough for him to walk over, and spend the night holding her.

She may as well have been miles away.

* * *

><p>The next morning they'd gathered again in the conference room, though this time Declan had been taken to a different room by a young female cop. Ian had looked annoyed, but after the look he shot that cop, she'd have to be a moron to let Declan get so much as a paper cut while in her care.<p>

Emily was damn tired. For the last two nights, she'd felt completely unable to relax. She, Clyde and Sean were a rental house with Ian and Declan, and Jeremy and Tsia were at a hotel. Even though he was still angry with her, Clyde had been ever the gentleman and allowed her one of the three bedrooms, while he and Sean would rotate nights on the pull-out in the living room. It was almost amusing; he of all people knew she wasn't some delicate flower. Still, she wasn't going to turn down a comfortable bed.

Even if it was next to Ian.

Clyde cleared his throat, effectively ending the blank stares they were all shooting at the files on the table. The canvassing had been all but useless. No one had seen Flynn Ronan in Boston, or at least, they wouldn't admit to it.

"Let's not look so morose, shall we?" Clyde said. He turned to her. "Did you unearth any new information with your profile?"

"Well, he seems to be using a handfasting cord to kill the children, which says to me that he doesn't give a damn about tradition. That's a pretty disrespectful way to use one. With that in mind, I'd question Ian's assertion that Flynn would want a church nearby."

Clyde started to nod, but Doyle's voice made him freeze. "His needs for the church have nothing to do with tradition, or faith. He goes to church, because he knows he's going to Hell for what he's done. Confessing and receiving forgiveness will wash away his sins in the eyes of the church and God."

Clyde turned to her. Emily shrugged. "That works for me."

"None of this helps us unless we can figure out whose name the house he's living in is under," Sean said.

They'd tried searching for Seamus or Flynn Ronan in property records and came up empty. Ian had even supplied them a company name to look under, but they still came up with nothing.

"If we gather enough information, we may be able to narrow down to an area," Tsia said.

Clyde looked at Sean. "Unless you've got a better idea?"

He shook his head, and tossed his pen onto the table like he'd had enough. Emily couldn't really blame him.

"I know a way we could find him." Her head whipped toward Doyle as he spoke.

"Really? Well, I'm all ears." Clyde looked amused.

"Flynn will be willing to meet an arms dealer interested in selling him some merchandise." His gaze then turned toward her.

"You want us to set up a sting with Emily?" Tsia asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Not Emily. Lauren."

"Flynn doesn't deal in that sort of business, why would he want to meet an arms dealer?" Clyde said.

"Because Seamus does," Ian said, still looking at her. She met his eyes, and saw in them what he was thinking.

She sighed. "Flynn is a screw-up. Seamus is always cleaning up after him, he'd be eager to do anything that will impress his brother."

"Like buy him some hard to find merchandise," Tsia added.

Emily nodded. "And, he'll be all the more eager if the dealer is Lauren."

Ian's eyes still hadn't left hers. "Only if he knows of our relationship."

"He does. Well, Seamus does, so I assume Flynn does."

He frowned deeply. "How? Why?"

"Because we didn't try to hide it…and I ran into him once or twice when we were in Moira." She had neglected to tell Ian about that, deciding not to risk him going caveman on her. Or rather on Seamus.

They'd stayed in Moira a few times, because Ian was, like many of the Irish, very proud of his homeland and heritage. Moira was where he grew up, and where Seamus still spent most of his time.

He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to demand she tell him what happened, but then closed it abruptly. She wasn't Lauren. It didn't matter though; Ian was already tense, his jaw set and the veins in his neck beginning to stand out underneath his skin.

"Well, it sounds all well and good, but there's still the problem of getting an introduction." Clyde was right, but all Emily had to do was look at Ian to know he was thinking the same thing going through her mind.

"Fahey."

* * *

><p>It was seven o'clock, and Emily was sitting with a glass of whiskey in front of her, the ice slowly melting into the amber liquid. The Black Shamrock hadn't changed very much since the last time she'd been here. The air still smelled like sweat and cigarette smoke, a mix of Irish and Boston accents floated over from nearby tables, and deals were still conducted in the dark, quiet corners of the bar. The last time she sat at one of the Shamrock's tables, she'd been waiting to meet Ian.<p>

Tonight she was only meeting Fahey to arrange a meeting with Flynn. Even if Fahey didn't personally know the man, he'd know someone who did and would be able to arrange a meet with Flynn. Jack Fahey wasn't good for much, but he did have a talent for bringing people together.

Emily sipped her whiskey, feeling the slight burn as it slid down her throat and came to almost sizzle in her belly. She glanced around the bar, eager for Fahey to show up. She was alone tonight. The team was British, Scottish, German, and American, they'd stand out too much among the bar full of local Bostonians and imported Irish. Lauren Reynolds was an exception. Once upon a time, she had frequented this bar often, building up her business and network of contacts, and dodging the BPD, like every other criminal in the city. Lauren fit in.

Ian would have fit in, if he wasn't Ian Doyle. Being who he was, his presence in the states would draw too much attention. So, Emily was alone.

Not anymore.

Fahey smiled from the doorway as he caught her eye, and sauntered over. He looked the picture of cocky confidence with a ridiculous tailored suit and his dark hair shellacked to his head. He pulled out the seat across from her, and slid into it. "Lauren Reynolds, it's been a while."

"Jack Fahey. Yes, it has." She returned his smile.

He pulled out a silver cigarette case, and slipped one out, offering it to her. Emily shook her head. "I quit," she said.

His eyebrows rose, and he stuck it in his mouth. "Really? You don't strike me as the type to be afraid of lung cancer."

She shrugged. "Someone I care about asked me to stop, so I did."

That had been Ian. She'd lit up one night after they made love, eager for her nicotine fix, and he'd just stared at her a long moment. When she'd felt his eyes, she'd turned and asked him what was wrong. He'd told her that he didn't like watching her poison herself. Her first thought had been to laugh at the dramatic nature of the comment, but the look in his eyes—the love she saw there—made her stop and put the cigarette out. There followed a few days where she nearly went nuts, and a few months of struggling before the cravings finally went away.

"That easy, huh?"

She snorted. "The decision, yes. The actual act of quitting, not nearly."

Fahey nodded. "So, you said you needed me to arrange a meeting?"

"Yes. I heard Flynn Ronan lives in Boston now. I have some merchandise that might interest his brother, Seamus."

"The Ronans? Isn't that playing with fire for you? Or are the rumors not true?" He eyed her.

Emily inhaled. "Rumors?"

"Yeah, that you and Ian Doyle have just about set up house together."

"That's true, yes. Things haven't been going very well though, not anymore. I know things about him and his business. Things that could make it dangerous for me if I had to leave him. I need money and I need powerful connections outside Ian in case things get worse between us."

"And, you don't think this will make things worse?"

"It's a risk I have to take, Jack."

Fahey still seemed hesitant, then his eyes caught on the gold draped around her neck. He nodded at it. "I've seen one of those before, it's a wedding thing."

She grabbed ring and held it in her hand. "Usually, yes."

For the first time in his life, Jack Fahey seemed to use his brains. "What the hell is going on with you and Doyle?"

Emily took another long sip of her drink, and ad-libbed the general story they'd developed. "We got wind the cops are nosing around, getting close to moving in on him. He's gotten…paranoid and controlling."

Finally he sighed. "Fine. I don't know Flynn, but I do know a guy who knows him. Let me go talk to him, and I'll call you later tonight. You still have the same number?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

He left then, and Emily finished her whiskey and caught a cab. She took it to a shopping center, disappeared in the crowd, and came out a different entrance. She caught a second cab, and repeated this twice, zipping all over the city, before finally going back to the rental house, secure that no one could have followed her.

She found Clyde and Sean in the living room, confirmed the success of the meeting, and then trudged off to her bedroom. Emily hadn't quite closed the door when Ian appeared on the other side. She let him in without even really thinking about it. She was so unfocused that when he shut the door, and suddenly pushed her up against a wall, she let out a gasp of surprise. Emily thought he was angry until she saw his eyes. She knew that look well.

He was kissing her then, tongue teasing her lips open, and plunging inside. Ian pushed his body up against hers, his groin rubbing against hers, and Emily grew warm at the contact. She didn't resist him. She didn't want to resist him. Even with Clyde and Sean down the hall, even knowing how stupid it was, Emily wanted more.

She responded to his kiss with as much intensity as either one of them could take. Her fingers traced off her rough stubble, relishing the feel of it. The feel of him. His hands slid under her top, running up her back to unhook her bra. When his hands touched her bare breasts, Emily felt herself grow wet and the ache that came with it. She worked on his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping as their kiss grew increasingly desperate. He kicked his pants off while she worked on her own, yanking them down her legs, and tossing them somewhere in the room.

He pressed himself against her, the thin fabric of their underwear the only thing separating them. Emily pushed back, whimpering as he ground against her, the ache between her legs intensifying with it. The rest of it came in a dizzy rush of lust that would never be clear in her mind.

They made it to the bed. Naked. He was inside her, thrusting. She begged him in a whisper to go deeper. To go harder. She gripped his back, hands hanging onto his sweat-slick skin as they both began to lose control. His pace was rapid and hard, and she took him all, and begged for more. He slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, and then she let go, her control slipping and body tensing as she rode out her climax. Ian followed close behind, burying his face in the mattress to stifle his yell, his hand still clasped over her mouth.

They hadn't lain catching their breath for very long when she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Quick little note, I'm doing a fanfic charity auction, the info is in my profile. There's a lot of writers signed up, so go check it out.<em>

_Thanks for reading, and thank you all so much for the reviews on the last chapter!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you all so much for the reviews on the last chapter! And sorry for the delay, I started a second job this week. I also started a blog on fanfic writing, so please pop in to visit!_

_thescrappile. tumblr. com_

* * *

><p>He left right after she'd received the phone call from Fahey. The ringing of the phone at just after midnight had been like an alarm to both of them, jolting them awake, and into the realization of what they'd done. He'd crawled back to his room, found Declan fallen asleep on the bed, a picture book in his hands, and parked himself on the chair in the corner, prepared to spend the night thinking over the mess in which he'd found himself.<p>

He'd fallen asleep in that chair, and awoken at six, certain of two things. The ache in his back assured him that he was too old to be sleeping in a chair. That was easily remedied with a hot shower and aspirin, but his second revelation wouldn't be fixed anytime soon.

Lauren or Emily, her name didn't matter, he still loved her. The Emily he'd become acquainted with the last few days wasn't so different from the Lauren he'd grown to love deeply. Emily was just as strong and confident as Lauren, she was perhaps even smarter, and certainly as caring as her undercover counterpart. She hadn't faked her feelings toward Declan, he was certain of that. And last night, he'd discovered that she was just as beautiful, sensual and passionate as Lauren.

Ian hated himself for falling for her, for falling in love with a cop. Or a spy, whatever she called herself. He was sure he wasn't alone in that though. She'd fallen for him as well. He felt it in the way she touched him last night, that her body was just as desperate for that union as his had been.

At 6:30, he wandered out to the kitchen to grab coffee, and found Clyde already seated at the small table, sipping black coffee and reading a paper.

"Morning," he said, voice rough.

"Morning." Clyde stared at the paper another minute, and then pulled his attention away. "How's Declan doing?"

Ian shrugged, as he dug around for a cup. "Confused and scared, but he's doing alright." The boy was actually doing very well, the tears and whining were limited, and Ian was rather proud of him.

"This should be over in a few days, then you can take him away and settle him somewhere safe."

Ian nodded as poured his coffee, but didn't verbally respond.

"The US Marshals will give you a new life. You'll have a normal job, and a chance to meet a nice, young woman and give that boy a proper mother."

Doyle snorted. "Those aren't exactly sellin' points to me."

The other man was silent for some time. Then he gave a long sigh. "You can't take her with you."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Emily. You can't take her with you."

Ian sneered at him. "And, who says I even want to?"

Easter suddenly looked smug. "While you certainly get points for trying, you two fail at quiet sex."

Doyle tensed. "Don't know what you're talking about."

The other man snorted, his smug look disappearing and being replaced by one that was devoid of all pleasantness, and held a threat in it. "You can't take her with you. I won't allow it."

He only scowled and walked away, passing Emily in the hallway as he moved. She gently brushed his arm, but gave no other indication of their activities from last night. His chest ached.

* * *

><p>"Hey, I got a call from Fahey last night. Eight o'clock tonight at the Black Shamrock." Emily spoke as she headed for the coffee maker. "Apparently, Flynn is quite intrigued."<p>

"What the hell are you doing?"

Wide-eyed at his remark, Emily turned to look at him, coffee cup limp in her hand. "Excuse me?"

"With Doyle. Have you lost your mind?"

"What are you talking about?" She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to ignore the sudden galloping of her heartbeat.

"Don't play stupid. I know what you were doing last night."

The game up, Emily calmly turned to the coffee maker, poured a cup, and searched fruitlessly for sweetener. After giving up, she walked over, and sat across from him at the table.

"So?" He asked. "What's your plan here?"

She sipped her coffee. "I guess I don't have one, Clyde."

"Are you in love with him?"

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think so."

Clyde looked down, ran his hands over his head, and mumbled. "Damn it…damn it."

Emily ignored him, and sipped her coffee. She'd already gone through that moment months ago.

Suddenly, he practically yelped at her. "You know what he is, Em! Did you forget that or what?"

"Of course, I didn't. I thought about every life taken and every gruesome crime scene photo, every time. Every time he touched me, or held me, every time he made me laugh, and every time we took Declan out together and played happy family. But I couldn't deny what I saw in his eyes, or what I felt when he touched me. So, I stopped trying."

"Just like that? You said what the hell, why not, may as well get lovey-dovey with a murder and international terrorist?"

Emily narrowed her eyes in an unforgiving glare. "You do not get to judge me, Clyde. I screwed up, I'm well aware of that, and I'll take responsibility for it, but you do not get to judge me. Not when you got to sit on the sidelines and plan and plot and observe." She inhaled. "I was under with Doyle for almost eighteen months. I've lived with him for the last six months. You and I both know you've never been under that long, so you do not get to sit there and judge me."

"You aren't undercover anymore though, Em. You aren't Lauren anymore, and you still fucked him."

* * *

><p>He was pacing the conference room he'd spent the last two days in, waiting for word from the sting with Flynn. Tsia Mosely, the pretty, mocha-skinned agent was waiting with him, and she didn't seem to be any more thrilled than him. She was a glorified babysitter for the evening, making sure he didn't do anything or go anywhere that may cause them problems. They were also awaiting the arrival of the US Marshals, to get started on the arrangement to hide them.<p>

"Wearing a hole in the floor isn't going to make this go quicker," she said.

He shot her a less than friendly look. "I'm not used to all this waiting. I take care of things myself."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

He stopped and eyed her. "I suppose you know most of my history, don't you?"

"I know enough. You are a very bad man, Mr. Doyle."

"Yet, you people sent one of yours to spend over a year with me?"

"It was the only way to get information on you. You have loyal people."

Ian nodded. "Aye, you won't get far without loyalty."

She nodded, and proceeded to stare at the wall again. They'd already hammered out the profile for the umpteenth time, and there was nothing left to do now, except wait for a couple of Feds to come and take him away to life he didn't even want. His original plan had been to disappear from the program after a year or so, and set up shop again. With Lauren, he could have survived that year. Without her…he was questioning his plan.

He sat at the table, facing the Interpol agent, and considered the thought that had been repeating in his head. He sighed, and asked her about it. "What if I could give you information on Seamus as well?"

Mosely turned to him with a frown. "On Seamus Ronan? Why would you do that?"

"With no Seamus, I don't have to hide."

"I don't know what kind of a case we've got on Seamus, but I don't imagine any agency would turn down the information. I also don't know that we'd be able to let you go back to doing what you do."

He nodded and considered that. "What if I had a lot of information on a lot of bad people? People you'd be interest in putting behind bars."

She frowned again, brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't think I understand the question."

"Would I keep working with you lot?"

"I don't know, maybe." She smiled then, looking amused and almost smug. "Have you grown attached to us, Doyle?"

He scoffed. "Hardly."

Suddenly, her smile fell, and she grew very serious. "Emily. You've grown attached to her."

He didn't answer.

The Interpol agent pressed her lips together and shook her head. "That's a bad, bad idea, Doyle. There's no possibility for a happy ending with her."

Again, he chose not to answer. He was already well aware of whatever arguments she could give against the idea.

"Just finish this now, and then go with the Marshals. Get a new life, do something good for your son."

He looked at her then, and finally did speak. "That would be good for my son."

Her eyes grew softer with sympathy, but their conversation was caught off with a knock at the door. Mosely jumped up, and met the two men at the door with an outstretched hand. "Tsia Mosely, Interpol."

"Andre Juarez, and Tom Felton. US Marshals." They each took her hand, and showed their badges, which looked almost like the old-fashioned stars sheriffs wore in American Westerns.

Felton spoke then. "This is our witness?"

She nodded. "Ian Doyle. Also, his four year-old son will be going with him."

Juarez gave him a smile. "So, Ian. Are you ready for a new life?"

* * *

><p>Emily swallowed as she waited at the table with Fahey, the arrangement feeling uncomfortably familiar to her. Except Flynn was far worse than Doyle, and it made her skin crawl just thinking about him. Fahey lit up again, and Emily sipped her whiskey. She focused on his hair, trying to determine if he'd added extra gel today, or if that was just her imagination. It was like a sort of brainteaser to her, one that probably would have offended her companion.<p>

She glanced around, and tried to note which of the patrons were undercover BPD officers. Her team was outside with the case detectives, hidden in cars and some in plain sight, waiting for a sign to take Flynn down. She'd never met Flynn, only Seamus. Seamus made her skin crawl too. He always had this look in his eyes, like he was debating if it would be more fun to flay her skin off in strips or roast her like a duck. It was the look of a psychopath, she knew, but intellectualizing it didn't make it any less creepy.

"Hey, there he is." Fahey's voice startled her, and she barely covered it.

She followed his eyes to the man who'd just walked into the bar. He had thick dark, almost black hair, and whiskey-brown eyes that sought them out and burned into her in an unsettling fashion. He was tall, over six feet, and built, more muscled than Ian, and it turned her stomach to think of his large frame holding down the tiny frames of the children he'd killed. He was attractive, strong-jawed and pleasantly featured, not a man anyone would peg as a child molester.

Fahey rose from his seat as Flynn approached, and smiled. He pulled Flynn over. "You must be Flynn Ronan."

"Aye. You're Fahey?" The men shook hands, keeping the pleasantries short.

"That's me. Jack Fahey, and this beautiful creature is Lauren Reynolds. I'll let you kids get acquainted. Let me know if you need anything." With that, he waved and headed for the bar and the unfortunate blonde sitting by herself.

"He's right. I can see why Ian Doyle would be interested."

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

He smiled. "So, you have some merchandise for me?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah, I have a taste of it in my car outside. The rest I have at a warehouse."

"So, what do you have?"

"Grenades, modern ones, not the World War II relics, some new pistols out of Germany, fully automatic, and the piece no one else can get you, a rocket launcher."

He actually chuckled. "Rocket launcher? You're right, I don't know another dealer that could get their hands on that."

She smiled. "I told you I have good stuff."

He returned her smile, but it soon became predatory, and he held her wrist, squeezing it hard, even painfully. "How is it you came to possess such a weapon?"

Emily gritted her teeth, but didn't show any fear. "You want to the truth?"

He nodded. "Aye."

"I get merchandise the same way I get information, money or whatever else I need that may be hard to get. Find a weak-minded man, and exploit him. A little cleavage, a little flirting, a little shake of my hips, and you'd be surprised what I can get my hands on. He'll sell it to me; even if he was adamantly against it ten minutes before, he'll still sell it to me."

"Fine. Let's take a walk to your car then, and you show me some proof."

She yanked her wrist back when his grip loosened, and glared at him. "Obviously, I can't fit a rocket launcher in a sedan. I did bring a couple of the rockets with me though. You can see those. Then we talk price."

He nodded, and stood up, gesturing her to lead the way. Emily did, oozing confidence as she moved in front of him, putting her back to him in a move that made her a bit nervous. They walked out to her car, and it was the moment after she'd unlocked the trunk, and had pulled it open that her team and BPD swarmed.

Lights flashed on, bodies moved about, and guns were drawn on them. Wide-eyed, Emily turned to Flynn. "You bastard! You set me up!"

His face twisted from shock to fury, and he grabbed her hard. "No! You did this! You did this!"

"I'm the one with a trunk full of illegal weapons," she spat. "How does that hurt you?"

They'd agreed to do whatever necessary to maintain Lauren's identity as a trustworthy arms dealer, to protect Emily if nothing else.

"This is the BPD. Get on the ground, put your hands on heads. Now!" One of the detectives yelled.

Emily was all set to hit the ground, but then Flynn did something they didn't plan on. He grabbed her, whipped out a pistol, and pushed it hard against her skull. She watched Clyde, Sean and Jeremy freeze where they stood, their faces all suddenly showing the same expression.

Shit.


	6. Chapter 6

Emily felt the cold, hard edge of the pistol digging into the thin layer of skin covering her skull, and winced, refusing to show any discomfort beyond that. Her jaw was tight with tension as she watched the detectives look toward her team, silently allowing them to handle negotiating the release of their own.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" She snapped at Flynn. Lauren Reynolds would be pissed.

"Shut up," he growled.

"I think you might want to listen to him, Ms. Reynolds," Clyde calmly informed her.

"I suppose I'm your target then?" She asked.

He nodded. "Though we do have some questions for Mr. Ronan."

"Better ask 'em now, cause I'm not going anywhere with you." He pressed the gun even harder against her skull.

"Flynn, I think you're over-reacting here," Clyde began. "We can handle this rather simply. You release Ms. Reynolds, we arrest her, get a statement from you, and we're all happy."

"I don't believe you."

Emily rolled her eyes. Why didn't that surprise her? She eyed Clyde, and he shot her an unhappy warning look. She ignored it. Flynn was far too freaked to give into negotiating. His instant reaction here spoke of a man who had been waiting for the law to catch-up with him for a long time. No amount of talking would dissuade him from his paranoia-induced assumptions.

She stared back at Clyde, warning him with just her eyes, telling him what she was about to do. He pursed his lips in clear disagreement, but she ignored that too. Sure, she was risking her life, but they didn't have snipers in place, and Flynn was too unhinged to wait.

Simultaneously, she slammed her foot down on his, and drove her elbow into his stomach, grabbing his arm, and twisting herself out of his grip expertly. She pushed his gun hand away from her, even as his fist connected with her face. His elbow connected with her stomach as her team rushed up and pulled him off of her. Sean yanked the pistol from his hand, while Clyde pressed him up against the sedan, and Jeremy cuffed him. Just for show, the detectives approached her and cuffed her hands behind her back as well.

"You'll want to hit the hospital with that one, before we take her for booking," Clyde commented.

They nodded, and walked her to a police cruiser, explaining the situation to the two uniformed officers, before putting her inside. Emily watched from the back of the police cruiser, her hands cuffed behind her, as they all worked the scene. Flynn was dragged to another patrol car, and sent on his way, but not before they got his car keys.

Sean searched the parking lot, and located the Caddy sedan, the only one in the lot. She watched in silence as they opened the car, and began searching it with gloved hands. Flynn's actions gave them probable cause to search his vehicle, so now they only needed an address and probable cause to search the house.

Clyde came out of the passenger's side, holding something aloft triumphantly. This was followed by Sean stepping away from the open trunk, something in his hands, and his head downcast. His expression was anything but triumphant. Emily squinted through the darkness, but couldn't make out what either man was carrying.

Jeremy jogged up to her then, motioning the officers to roll down her window. "Clyde found the registration for the car, it has a fake name and presumably his address. Sean found a stuffed monkey smeared in blood. According to the detectives, it belonged to Kelsey Mercer."

She was a six year-old who turned up dead two months ago. Emily nodded, feeling both disgust and relief. "You're heading over there now?"

He nodded. "The officers will take you to the hospital, then station. We'll meet you there later."

"I don't need the hospital." She angled her neck to look at her chauffeurs. "Just the station, please."

Jeremy gave her an impatient look. "Clyde is already pissed at you, you don't want to make it worse."

Emily snorted. "I can deal with Clyde. I don't need a hospital."

He shook his head and shrugged, motioning the officers to head off with her. Emily let her body fall back against the seat as much as she could while in the cuffs. She was so damned tired.

* * *

><p>Mosely wasn't looking at him. She hadn't glanced his way since the disapproving headshake as the Marshals were leaving. Like he gave a damn.<p>

Taking their promise of a new life would be lying to himself about who he really was as a man. He didn't have it in him to settle down to a 9-5 life with a house in the burbs, a dog, and a SUV. Even if it would be a safer life for Declan. He also couldn't lie to himself that he wasn't done with Emily Prentiss. There were things unsaid and undecided, and he needed to deal with that first.

Even past these things though, he truly couldn't lie to himself that it had felt good these last few days. Finally working to get Flynn Ronan in a cage where he belonged, that felt good. His pulse was still pumping furiously as he waited for word. A big part of him hated being relegated to the sidelines, but he was still pleased to help take the man down.

The door opened then, and two patrols officers came in with a cuffed Emily between them. They closed the door, undid her cuffs, and left without a word. She glanced between the two of them, and then slid into a seat. "Flynn was coming in downstairs when we got here."

He nodded, but his focus had drifted from the cuffs already. The tension he felt at seeing her in restraints grew worse as he noted the red marks on her face. A small one at her right temple, and the left side of her face was already swelling a bit.

"What happened out there?" Mosely asked.

"Flynn decided I made a good hostage…I disagreed."

The other woman smirked, but Ian was instead feeling rage. If he'd been there, Flynn would never have gotten the opportunity to hurt her. It took all his restraint not to go to her, and touch her. He wanted to, so desperately.

They were only sitting minutes when the rest of their team came back, looking both relieved and disgusted. They slid into seats around the table, and the whole group had a good few minutes of awkwardly staring at each other before Ian couldn't take it anymore.

"You got him then?" He demanded.

Easter nodded. "It seems like many of his kind Flynn liked to keep trophies. There's enough at his house to nail him for the Boston murders, and probably all the others as well. He's being booked now, and I don't imagine Boston will let him out of their sight until he's been convicted."

Ian felt an immense sense of relief. The image of Gemma Cavanaugh flashed past his eyes, her gleeful giggle ringing in her ears, as if she'd never stopped riding her bike near his house. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest, and he sighed with it. It felt wonderful, to know that Flynn could never hurt another child, and that he was part of making that happen. He'd given that little girl justice.

"Shame this state doesn't have the death penalty," Mosely muttered.

"This means you and your son get to disappeared now as promised," Clyde said.

Mosely answered before he could. "Yeah, change of plans. The Marshals left an hour ago."

Ian glanced at Easter as he looked back and forth between them. For only seconds his eyes drifted to Emily, who looked confused and worried. "I've information on Seamus. He needs to be taken off the street almost as badly as his brother."

Easter studied him, but Ian didn't flinch. He didn't flinch for anything. "Why the sudden generosity, Doyle?"

"The life your Marshals could offer isn't one I'm prepared to lead."

"You'll be putting Declan in danger," Emily insisted. Her face was tight, angry with him.

"Not if you put Seamus in a cell."

"And what do you plan to do in the meantime?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

He smiled at her. "Oh, I'm sure you could dig up a cozy little safe house somewhere."

"And, after we get Seamus, then what do you do?" It was McAllister, the Scotsman, that drew his attention then.

"I've got a head full of information. I've been dealing with bad people since I was a boy." He didn't feel that conflicted about giving it away either, not like he would have imagined.

They brought down Flynn, they could bring down Seamus, and he knew many men that were as deserving of imprisonment as the older Ronan brother. There were things even he couldn't condone, hurting children and raping women were among them. He'd dealt with many men that engaged in both. When you were a criminal performing criminal acts, you couldn't be too picky with whom you did business.

"Just like that?" Easter asked. "You're going to give up your associates just like that?"

"I've conditions, but those be met, you'll get whatever I've to give."

Easter sighed. "I'll need to clear this with our superiors. Em, stay with him." He waved the others out.

Ian eyed his sole companion. "Hope I didn't get you in trouble, Love."

"Ian, what the hell are you doing?" She sounded tired, almost exasperated.

"Building a new life."

"As a professional witness? Not really your style. You hate cops."

"Perhaps I gain some satisfaction from helping cage the monsters I've worked with for years."

"Some people would group you with them."

He got up, and moved so he was sitting beside her. He leaned close. "Aye, some. But not you."

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Ian." She pled.

"It doesn't need to be hard, Love."

* * *

><p>Six months later<p>

Emily yawned as they drove to the safe house, up through the frozen forests of Maine. They'd put him so out in the middle of nowhere, no one would find him. Even though this was their third trip out, it was taking all her skills as a navigator to make sure she didn't steer Clyde in the wrong direction. It didn't help that everything even remotely familiar was covered in two feet of snow.

Clyde wasn't happy with the arrangement, not by a long shot, but he'd finally stopped glaring at her. The disappointed looks also seemed to be vanishing from his eyes, and those were worse than the glaring. Tsia thought she was nuts, but had given up trying to talk sense into her. Emily had never been close with Jeremy, so he kept his feelings to himself, and Sean…he'd had much the same reaction as Clyde, though shorter lasting. Fortunately, most of her work was limited to working with her team; working with other agents could get tricky.

Those familiar with their team and her, had heard of their relationship through the grapevine, and most viewed her now with barely contained disgust. That could be difficult to deal with, especially when they were eyeing her with scorn from across the room. For that reason, Clyde made sure to assign the others to liaise with their colleagues if it was necessary.

"The left should be coming up, so slow down," she instructed.

At this moment, across the Atlantic, their team members along with Gardaíand MI5 were in Moira were storming the home of Seamus Ronan. With Ian Doyle's help they'd amassed enough intelligence on the man to get a warrant and stage a plan of attack. Where normally, she might be bummed to be missing the action, she found herself rather unbothered by it today.

"This one?" Clyde asked, gesturing to a barely visible turn-off.

Emily squinted and studied the area. "That's it."

For the next two weeks, they'd be guests at Doyle's safe house, working on developing intel on their next target. Gerard LaCoix, a native of Chad, and a warlord. Ian had brokered a weapons deal with the man, a favor for a client for whom he'd done some freelancing work. Not his usual job, but one that paid the bills.

"How long to do plan on carrying on with him?" Clyde asked, steering the car through the long, winding driveway.

"Until one of us decides it's not working, I guess."

One of Doyle's conditions had been that they were allowed to date without any repercussions coming down on her. Clyde had flat out refused at first, nearly coming to blows with the other man. Sean looked like he might have too. Tsia had just appeared exasperated.

Emily had tried to melt into the floor.

"You realize you've lost your mind, right?" He glanced at her, then back to the road.

"Yep. I'm well aware," she said.

Clyde smirked then. "So long as you're aware."

She gave him a smile as they pulled up to the large log cabin. It appeared rugged on the outside, but was rather homey on the inside. They grabbed their bags and headed to the door, Emily hitting the bell. They heard a scurry of eager feet, and then the door was pulled open.

Declan lunged at her, nearly knocking her down. "Emily!"

She wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly. Rather than explain everything to him, they'd simply told Declan that it was her new name. Like Michael and Connor were their new names.

"Hey sweetie. Where's your Dad? Shouldn't he answer the door?" She maneuvered the boy inside as she talked.

"Right here, Love." He appeared from the stairs, smiling, and walked over to hug her and peck her lips.

Emily had instituted the rule of limiting PDA in front of Clyde and the others, because the relationship bothered the hell out of them. Ian honored it, but she knew with in 15 minutes, he'd have cornered her in some empty area of the house and be kissing her senseless. She was looking forward to it.

"You got Seamus then?" He asked, fingers entwining with hers.

Clyde nodded. "They're arresting him as we speak."

He'd settled into his life here fairly well, and had found a job teaching weapons at the nearby state police training facility. It suited him well. They weren't the warriors he'd envisioned raising, but it was as close as he was ever going to get. And, he actually seemed to get some satisfaction from doling out information to them, and helping them bring people like Seamus Ronan down.

It was quite possibly the most bizarre arrangement in Interpol history, and likely destroyed any chance she had of advancing in any law enforcement agency, but Emily didn't regret it. Not yet anyway.

"Can I show her now?" Declan piped up, voice excited as he grabbed her free hand.

Ian nodded. "He made something for you."

Emily nodded and followed the little boy, who tugged her eagerly toward his bedroom. Of all the outcomes she'd envisioned for the son of Ian Doyle, this wasn't one she'd imagined.

Declan dragged her over and brought her a wooden picture frame that appeared to be painted by his own hand. It was a mess of blue, green, purple and red, but he looked so proud, she made a huge deal over it.

Sensing eyes on her, Emily turned to see Ian leaning against the doorframe, looking surprisingly content with his current situation. Out of all the outcomes she'd envisioned when she began this assignment, this one wasn't even in the realm of possibility.

But there they were.

* * *

><p><em>That's it, this one is done. I probably won't get to the next PrentissDoyle story the third or fourth week in March, but that one will also be chaptered (and it will have Prentiss/Doyle offspring). Thanks very much for reading, and thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed this story, especially the last chapter. That really made my day. :)_

_Gardaí is the short name for Garda Síochána na hÉireann (Guardians of the Peace of Ireland), the Irish police force. I figured the British would want in on a bust that big as well, so I threw MI5 in there, which I believe is the British equivalent of the FBI._

_Also, I'm running a contest on my blog this week, you can win either: a critique of one of your stories or you can prompt me. Link is in my profile, and rules are on the blog.  
><em>


End file.
